


use my skin to bury secrets in

by splatticus



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, alcohol mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:26:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22997635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/splatticus/pseuds/splatticus
Summary: Pasta seems to always know the right time to waltz back into William's life, somehow.
Relationships: William Nylander/David Pastrnak
Comments: 3
Kudos: 52





	use my skin to bury secrets in

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "I Know" by Fiona Apple.

William's cellphone has two dozen texts by the time he allows himself to look at it. He hides at the most empty aisle, the one with shelves and shelves of health food, leaning slightly against the shelves when his vision starts tilting. Fumbling with one hand, he tries to wipe away the glitter from his cheek with the other, to no avail. He doesn't quite know what he looks like, just remembers a club that had been stifling and loud. Gold foil streamers may have been involved.

He grimaces as the harsh fluorescent light bounces against his phone screen as he pores through the messages one by one.

_Snizz, where are you? Don't leave us hanging. Sandy almost got himself a girl, he needs our moral support!_ He can almost hear Kappy's voice in the text.

William smiles despite himself. Kappy and the rest of the group earned this celebration, having arrived back to the city after a week of camp in Newfoundland. The whirlwind roster cuts and media blitz always take a lot out of everyone, but the battery and exhaustion don't matter when a new season is already in their grasp.

Most of the messages were variations of the same, about six other people asking if he already went home. His agent texted to remind him that he'll be in town by the end of the week. Family members texting random photos without context. From his teammates, there's a hint of surprise at their tone, like they can hardly believe that William Nylander would leave a party so early.

A long time ago, William would get weepy and belligerent when he gets drunk. He's had a handle on things now when it comes this--he never drinks when he's looking for a fight, never talks back when he's already tipsy. That has saved him countless rumors in the last three years, he's sure. People don't know that he trawls through random Shoppers Drug Marts alone to wait out the buzz--the sadness--nor do they need to. Anything to keep his name off the press.

He ambles around the store, peeking up at the new protein shake brands on display as he reads the texts. The last two are from Pasta, and it blindsides him more than it should.

_Why aren't you home?_ The first one asks. Then another one, only about twenty minutes ago, _I forgot about training camp, sorry._

William feels blood pounding in his ears, impending hangover mixing with sudden nervousness. He scrambles for Pasta's contact in his phone, his breath suddenly short like he's ending a lap around the rink. He goes down the aisle one more time before taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders. He dials Pasta's number, half-expecting it go straight to voicemail, but he picks up on the third ring.

"Have you left already?" William demands without preamble, louder than he means to.

"Hi. Sorry to disturb, I didn't know you're away."

"No! I'm not--I mean," William licks his lips. "The team was out of town but we're back. I was just. Out with friends."

A bashful laugh, so typical of Pasta. "Oh no, that's worse. Go back and have fun."

"Don't worry about it. I see them all the time."

Both of them turn quiet again. It's hard for William to think of new things to say, not only when he's drunk but every time when he talks to Pasta. There's so much between them already that all talk seems small.

Then he hears Pasta say, "I'm jealous of them. I want to see you all the time, too."

William grabs random bags of granola from the shelves so he wouldn't look shady as he leaves and walks straight towards the checkout counters.

-

Paranoid that someone has recognized him, William takes the long route home, telling the Uber driver to drop them a couple of streets away from his actual address. He circles his condo block twice before entering. Doesn't want to admit to himself that he was simply buying time.

Pasta is standing at the lobby, and he grins at William sheepishly as soon as he steps into the foyer. William thinks he's grinning at least, because his face is half-obscured by a big fluffy scarf. His hand reaches out for one of the grocery bag William is holding.

"You changed your hair," Pasta says.

William touches the back of his neck self-consciously. "Yeah."

"Looks nice."

Conversation stutters and dies right there, and William leads him to the elevators. Once on his floor, he fishes for the key and opens the door. They enter quickly, like it's a relief. Inside William's home, the silence isn't oppressive; this is the kind of memory they know how to deal with. They reach the kitchen counter and place the plastic bags there, already facing each other, moving inexorably closer.

"You want a drink?" William says. His hands are reaching to unravel Pasta's scarf.

"I'm okay."

"... a sandwich?"

Pasta laughs. "I don't know. No, maybe later."

The first kiss comes easily, casual save for the hint of tongue against his lips. He answers by raining small bites along Pasta's jawline, twining his fingers around Pasta's scarf and pulling. William groans as Pasta rubs up against him, lazy and deliberate.

Merely weeks without this and William's reeling from want. He suspects Pasta is, too.

"Wait," William says. "Wait. Too bright outside."

William extricates himself with great difficulty, shrugging off his coat and discarding it. Methodical journey from the kitchen to the living room to the bedroom, closing each blind with the flick of a wrist, banishing the evening Toronto skyline, but his steps stutter somehow once he feels Pasta's heat behind him, following him around the apartment. The rooms get darker by degrees, and William's pulse races faster when he feels fingers unbuttoning his shirt. It falls forgotten to the floor as they stumble through the hallway.

Last set of windows. It's part of William's carefully cultivated sense of paranoia, this need to block out the light streaming from outside. Never let your guard down ever. Telephoto lenses are a sad reality. The voices of the entire franchise play in his head and there's no real way to shut them off except through the heady fog that falls on him when he and Pasta kiss.

He smells of faded cologne and a long day's travel, warm and familiar. Like opening a book in the middle of a chapter and it takes a while to remember the motions, but Pasta's hands grasping at his waist reminds him quickly. His fingernails graze the length of his spine and William shivers from the sensation, his clothes becoming restrictive and hot.

William takes a step back and helps Pasta out of his shirt, works on the buttons of his jeans with less than steady fingers.

"We should--" Pasta says, sounding out of breath. "Bed."

Nodding in agreement, William begins to feel giddiness nipping him at the edges. Hears the soft rustle of cloth as Pasta removes his pants. William unbuttons his own shirt and allows Pasta to lead the few steps to the mattress--he sits on the edge and pulls William between his legs, nuzzles William's stomach affectionately. William chokes on his laughter, rakes fingers through Pasta's too-long hair.

A warm hand steals into William's boxers--his train of thought careens towards incoherence--and takes out his cock, stiff and heavy. Doesn't allow William a chance to protest or move his hand away. Pasta's soft, soft lips begin to move against him, wet and sloppy and eager.

He can't help his hips from jerking up and straining against the arm around his waist that is keeping William still. He looks down and sees nothing but the shadowy outline of Pasta's head as it moves up and down in tandem with the wet, lazy movement of his tongue on his dick. Pasta plants a soft kiss, playful nip at the dip on William's hip, making him shudder.

Quick blowjob, standard and perfunctory, except that it's not. William lets the sensation take over him, blanks out the residual frustrations of the day. In the darkness of his room William feels vulnerable in more ways than a nakedness. But Pasta has always been kind and always been willing to keep his secrets, including this, things that make William feel vulnerable.

It doesn't take long until he comes, and William topples over Pasta, spent and exhausted, their bodies end up tangled on the bed.

"Thank you," William whispers. He feels lucky he's able to create this, snatches of memory put away and locked, to be revisited some other day.

He feels Pasta's smile against his temple as he drifts off, sleep overtaking him.

*

**Author's Note:**

> This miiiiiight be part of a longer thing, but also maybe not.
> 
> Thank you to Brooks, Olive, Keeks, Abby and Liz for looking this over, lol. Find me on Twitter @ disastrnak.


End file.
